


Slytherins Don't Smile

by orionstarlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Unrequited Love, Yule Ball (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24320554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orionstarlight/pseuds/orionstarlight
Summary: He starts off like he’s got two left feet but after a while he regains his focus, taking the lead from you before you can even notice. And he spins you to the music, turns at the right time, but most of all, he keeps you close to him, the hand on your back lower now and pulling you right to his chest.-----In which Draco takes you to the Yule Ball and something more than magic lingers in the air by the end of the night.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 154





	Slytherins Don't Smile

**Author's Note:**

> hi guys! this is based this tweet https://twitter.com/mvlfqy/status/1262805983631376384?s=20 so make sure to like and retweet because i never would have made this fic without that absolutely beautiful prompt! my twitter is @bitchinIesbian so make sure to follow me for my stupid tweets and fic updates :)

“Hey, handsome, catch!” you giggle, throwing a white rose that turns deep green halfway through the air, landing smack on the back of Draco’s head and bouncing to the floor. He goes to pick it up and when he straightens up, his eyes land straight on you.

“That’s, um… you’re wearing a dress,” he stumbles. The boys he was talking with have left, leaving the two of you alone in the corridor. You walk up to him and take the rose, tucking it in the small slot in his blazer lapels.

You smile, even if according to everyone else, Slytherins don’t smile. “You invited me to the Yule Ball, Draco. What did you think I was going to wear? My everyday robes? Or perhaps an old Quidditch sweater?”

The dress you wear is made up of a mossy green, but instead of the classic silk or satin, it’s made up of layers of a fringe-like material, a deep emerald belt secured around your waist while the bottom of it graces the floor. It’s an strapless dress too, embroidered with small silver gems and jewels, the fringe tickling your upper arm. You’d had it made just for the occasion.

“No, I’ve just, uh, I’ve never seen you all dressed up like this. It looks nice, though.” You bite your tongue despite the words you want to spit at him at the moment. _Only nice? After Pansy nearly ripped all your hair out trying to style it?_

“Thanks. You don’t look so bad yourself,” you say, swallowing your true feelings. He stares at you stupidly for a moment before he finds his words and starts searching his pockets for something.

It’s a replica of a corsage, but instead of plastic flowers, there are real lilies that sparkle if they catch the light correctly. “A corsage? That’s a muggle tradition, isn’t it? Doesn’t seem very pureblood of you.”

“Pansy mentioned your fascination with the way the muggle world works and she said I should try and get you an object from it for tonight. After hours in the library-” _Hours? For you?_ “-this was the only thing I could think of,” he says, sliding it on your wrist. You’ve been to your fair share of balls and dances, but something tells you this is the one that will leave you with memories to last a lifetime.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” You see him fight off a smile and you exhale through your nose sharply, laughing at him. “Although I would like to know why we’re going to the ball now even though it’s almost over.”

A scowl graces his face.

“I didn’t want to be there while Potter was being showered in attention. You know I can’t-”

“-can’t stand him,” you finish, nodding. “I know. But I do like to let loose just the same as anyone else. Consider that next time you invite me to a party.”

“Next time?”

“Figure of speech,” you say, brushing it off. You don’t expect him to ask you anywhere again after tonight, the two of you back to being friends and nothing more. “Come on, let’s at least try to catch the last few songs before the night is over and it’s onto the next task of the Tournament.”

You take his hand and lead him into the Great Hall slowly, taking in the wonderful sight all around you. The normally stone arches above you as well as the banners and curtains are made of ice, the make-believe cold drifting through your body, and three Christmas trees stand where your professors always dine. The figurines on the walls hold in their mouths scales where blocks of ice lay, the snow from the ceiling drifting all around you. It is quite the sight to be able to behold.

“Son of a Banshee,” you whisper, completely in awe. 

“Careful Snape doesn’t hear you,” he whispers in your ear, and just knowing how close he is to you puts bats in your stomach.

“Who cares, Draco? Where else am I ever going to get a sight like this?”

He opens his mouth as if to say something, but with a slight shake of his head, he stops himself. So, feeling as though you’ll have to take the lead tonight, you place his hand on the middle of your back and your hand on his shoulder, while still holding his other hand tightly with your own. He knows these moves, and you know he knows how to dance, but the cogs in his head still haven’t started turning.

He starts off like he’s got two left feet but after a while he regains his focus, taking the lead from you before you can even notice. And he spins you to the music, turns at the right time, but most of all, he keeps you close to him, the hand on your back lower now and pulling you right to his chest.

You speak no words. You listen to the music that softly drifts into your ears, looking into those silver eyes you’ve been looking at for the past four years at Hogwarts. You never understood quite how you made your way into Draco’s clique considering how tolerable you are of the other houses while still believing in Slytherin superiority, but you’re grateful. Once you get past all those layers of cold and toughness, you can just make out the boy he used to be.

“Why do you call me Draco? You’re the only one who does,” he says, gazing into your eyes too. 

You shake your head in bewilderment. “It’s your name, isn’t it? Malfoy is your father’s, and besides, that nickname is for Potter. You two really have the ‘calling each other by your last name’ thing down.”

He scoffs, and though you know Potter leaves a sour taste in his mouth, you argue the one his father leaves is far more bitter. He can talk about telling his father this and telling his father that all he wants, but you know his home situation isn’t as lavish as he makes it out to be.

“But I can call you Malfoy if you want,” you shrug. You’ve always preferred to be on a more personal level with Draco, even though it’s rare for him to call you by your first name. Still, he’s never objected before.

“No, no. Draco is… fine.” He just about manages to stop the small smile that creeps up on him as the song ends, still holding you tightly as he speaks. “Draco is good.”

And though there is no music now, still he sways you, and you see Ron and Harry sitting gloomily at one of the tables, their dates -- that is if Ron got one in the end -- long gone, the two of them miserable on a night as wonderful as this one. They no doubt saw when you and Draco walked in, but they don’t stare at anything other than the floor now.

“You know the last song is over, right?” you chuckle. “Now we can stay here dancing to an empty room until they start clearing everything away, or we can stop looking like two fools.” _In love_ , you want to add, but what’s love when it’s unrequited?

“And where exactly do you want to go? Perhaps not the Forbidden Forest, because I assure you, being caught once in my first year was quite enough.” 

“The grounds are still open, the gardens. Besides, it’s Christmas. Surely any trespassing will be forgiven if we ask nicely,” you grin, that sly and cheeky side of you showing. You’ve always had a hand for mischief.

He shoots you a wicked grin right back, nothing like the small, soft smiles that show the boy he used to be. “You’re crazy, you know? Trying to purposefully get me into trouble.”

“You won’t get in trouble if you don’t tell anyone,” you whisper, already sliding out of his touch -- even though it’s the last thing you want to do -- and racing through the halls where students still loiter, too buzzed on energy to go back to their dorm rooms yet.

It’s funny how, despite the massive size of the school, the corridors somehow seem shorter. You almost feel like you’re flying instead of running, but you don’t miss the unmistakable sound of your heels against the stone floors. Something about Hogwarts at Christmas time is just pure magic, different to the one you practise in class.

Though the snow inside the Great Hall wasn’t real, the wave of bitterness and frost that hits you when you finally take a step into the snow outside violently reminds you that it is in fact winter, even if you’re wearing barely any layers. You shiver.

“I can’t believe I ran after you,” pants Draco when you look behind you. “If people didn’t think we looked like fools before, they certainly do now.”

“We’re Slytherins, aren’t we? We’re supposed to have bad reputations.”

He chuckles, smiles properly, walks up to you. “Bad reputations aren’t the same as idiotic reputations.”

His cheeks are red and you’ve no doubt yours are too, but this moment of vulnerability is too precious for you to care about whether or not you’re going to catch hypothermia in the next few minutes.

“You’re cold,” he states.

“I’m fine.”

“Liar,” he says, and takes off his suit jacket, helping you put your arms through the sleeves even though you protest and try to shrug him off. The jacket smells like him, of mint, lime, and rust, and you no longer care about struggling against the action. You never want to take it off.

“Thanks for taking me to the ball, Draco. I know you didn’t want to be there tonight, so thank you,” you say, sitting down under one of the arched holes where a window should be.

He shrugs. “Blaise said I’d look weak if I didn’t go. Anyway, you’re my friend. After everything these past four years, inviting you was the least I could do.”

“I’d say thank you again, but you’re probably tired of hearing it.” He sits down next to you, folding one of his legs over the other.

“Nonsense. I could never get tired of hearing you talk.”

Now you definitely know your cheeks are red, but not just from the cold. Does he know what he’s just said? The weight it holds in your heart? Surely he must. You’re blushing furiously, feeling incredibly stupid for having fallen for one of the biggest charmers in the school, but you don’t even know how it happened.

“Oh, come on,” you say, trying to shift the mood. “Even I get tired of myself. Half of the things I say don’t even make sense sometimes.”

You find yourself fiddling with the Slytherin ring on his finger subconsciously like you’ve done a couple of times before, and he’s always let you. Tonight, though, he turns his hand, takes your fingers and intertwines them with his. You want to look at him, to see what he looks like right now, but you’re scared.

“They do to me,” he says quietly, tilting your head up with his slender fingers hooked under your chin. “Blaise never said I’d look weak if I didn’t go tonight. He said I’d have to be a bloody idiot not to use tonight as an excuse for a date with you. Suffice it to say he was right.”

You swallow. You certainly hadn’t expected a confession like this. “So, you like me? You’re serious? This isn’t a dream?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“No, Draco. No, I don’t.”

So, you close the gap between you. You let yourself be lost in the kiss, the very thing you’ve been waiting for since you stepped foot on Platform 9 ¾. His hand snakes behind your head while yours is placed flat against his chest, his heartbeat fluttering just like yours. This feels so right, his lips pressing against yours, emotions flying out of you.

You pull away slowly, forehead against his. “Bloody hell. I wasn’t expecting that to happen tonight.”

“I was hoping it would. I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long now,” he says, pushing a strand of hair out of your face so you can see clearly. You find the courage to look into those grey eyes one more time and say something you thought you never would. 

“Then kiss me. Kiss me again and don’t stop.”

“Gladly,” he smiles, leaning back in, but if you told anyone, they wouldn’t believe you. After all, Slytherins don’t smile.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed that! i've never written harry potter properly like this before, so definitely a challenge! maybe it's not as awful as i made it out to be in my head *grits teeth*
> 
> [my ko-fi](https://ko-fi.com/erissapphic)


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